


put me on my back, knock me out again

by notthebigspoon



Series: no one dreams anyway [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan still has nightmares about Japan. He'll wake up sweaty and tangled in his sheets, gulping for air and feeling the phantom sensation of a metal rod in his thigh and a bullet through his shoulder.</p><p>Title taken from Lips Like Morphine by Kill Hannah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	put me on my back, knock me out again

Ryan still has nightmares about Japan. He'll wake up sweaty and tangled in his sheets, gulping for air and feeling the phantom sensation of a metal rod in his thigh and a bullet through his shoulder.

Those nights, he'll get out of bed and go to the kitchen for a cup of tea that he'll drink while double checking the security in the house, making sure all weapons are in place but safely locked away. He'll throw back the rug, double check the floor boards to make sure that they're down tight, that the PASIV is safe. He'll put the rug back down and push the couch back into position. He'll sit on the couch to watch infomercials and usually ends up falling asleep there.

The next day, he'll call Nicole as soon as is considered socially acceptable, make sure that both she and Ryder are safe and sound. Of course they are. They always are. Nicole is one of Saito's favorite assets. Nobody's going to touch her. She always humors him though. He loves that about her. He'll ask her how things are going with Saito. That's usually when she hangs up on him. She always laughs when she does it though.

When he had returned to the US, Nicole had stayed behind with Ryder. He'd went back to baseball, back to a dream that, if unpredictable and uncontrollable, was at least safe. He doesn't miss dream share, doesn't miss forging, doesn't miss almost dying and doesn't miss his friends dying.

He had the dream last night. He's functioning on almost no sleep. He's just thrown the last strike in the seventh when there's a crack and the rain starts pouring down, so thick and heavy that he's soaked through in an instant. He sprints into the dugout with the rest of the team, grabs towels and starts rubbing himself down. He's shivering and his teeth are chattering, and even yanking his coat over his head doesn't make him feel warm again.

He thinks about his last job in Japan, his last job period. He remembers lying on that rooftop thinking he was going to die, being so cold that he didn't know what was soaking him more, his own blood or the rain. He remembers Eames finding him, hauling him across the roof and into a helicopter, cursing him all the way, telling him he was self destructive and stupid and wasn't that generally Dom Cobb's area of expertise?

The throbbing in his shoulder is growing worse along with the storm. He knows it's psychosomatic. He can't do anything about it though, no amount of logic fixes it. He sighs and rubs his shoulder with the heel of his hand, shaking his head. The rain doesn't look like it's going to let up at all. He rubs his hair down one more time before leaving the towel draped over his head and slouching back, eyes closing.

“Wake your ass up. Nobody said you got a nap.”

Ryan doesn't open his eyes, just makes a sigh of contentment when Buster starts rubbing his sore shoulder. He mumbles a thank you and Buster hums something nonsensical in response as he carries on the massage. When the ache starts to subside and Ryan starts to warn up, he finally cracks his eyes and looks up at his boyfriend.

Buster is smiling. “Y'okay?”

“Cold. Wish the rain would stop.” He answers, resting his head against Buster's shoulder. “I didn't sleep last night.”

“The nightmare?”

After a year of dating, Buster's gotten used to it. He knows that about fifteen percent of the time, Ryan's nightmares prevent him from getting a full night's sleep. He's gently suggested before that Ryan see a psychiatrist, someone, to get some help for the problem, but he didn't push it when Ryan said no. Ryan doesn't know how to explain to Buster or anyone else that his nightmares are memories of every time he almost died in his criminal past.

He knows that someday he's going to have to tell Buster the truth, especially is this relationship goes the direction that Ryan thinks it is. Buster will have to know the truth if he's going to stay safe. At least Ryan won't have to teach him how to use a gun.

“Yeah. Sort of.” Ryan answers, glancing at him. “You ever get a bad feeling? And you don't know why you really feel that way because it's completely irrational but you're beyond sure that something bad is about to happen?”

“No. I'm not crazy.”

“Fuck you.”

“I'm sorry.” Buster answers, smiling and squeezing Ryan's shoulder again. “Why are you feeling paranoid?”

“Just... the nightmare. And the weather. I'll be okay after I get some sleep.”

The weather is growing worse by the minute. The sky is almost black, periodically lit by snaking tendrils of lightning. Nobody's surprised when the game is called. When he's showered and cleaned up, he nudges Buster, winks and asks if he wants to spend a rainy day in bed. Buster looks him up and down, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile as he says that if it's so important to Ryan, he could probably tolerate it.

They both shrug off separate invitations to hang out and take their own trucks back to Ryan's house, stopping long enough to pick up something to eat so they won't have to cook or order something in. When they get to Ryan's house, they park on the curb and dash through the rain to the porch, panting and shaking their heads, water flying from their hair. Ryan leans in, presses a kiss to Buster's cheek and laughing when Buster shoves him and tells him to unlock the door so they can get out of the chill already.

When he pops the door open, though, he can tell that something is off. He holds up a hand to Buster, pressing a finger to his mouth. He unlocks the drawer of the cabinet next to the door as quietly as he can, grabbing his favorite Glock and creeping further into the house, peering around. When he looks into the den, the person sitting on his couch beams and stands up, arms coming out as if to hug Ryan.

“Hello darling! Did you miss me?”

“... _Eames_?”


End file.
